


Showtime

by misaffection



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle XI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one irrefutable rule is that he doesn't flaunt the relationship within the SGC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Showtime

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Ba’al/Sam Carter/Jack O’Neill, watching, prize

The one irrefutable rule is that he doesn't flaunt the relationship within the SGC. While Baal tends to ignore most rules, when it comes to getting what he wants – which in this case is between her legs as often as possible – he thinks a little obedience won't do him any harm.

She will, however, which is another very good reason to behave himself.

He goes a whole two weeks before he breaks the rule, but it's really not his fault: O'Neill should have known better than to try reclaim her.

Baal wasn't paying attention to the briefing, but O'Neill's “Isn't that right, Carter?” brings his head up.

O'Neill is looking at him.

Colonel Mitchell decides now is the time to study his coffee intently. Into the silence that follows, Jackson's groan is very loud indeed.

Baal senses Samantha's distress as a flutter in his blood, the naquadah responding to the pounding of her heart. Fury that O'Neill is manipulating her surges, and he opens his mouth to say something about it. He's held back by the hand on his arm, by the way her eyes plead with him not to make an issue.

He relents. And triumph flickers over O'Neill's face.

“Yes, sir,” Samantha says, voice quiet but firm. Her hand squeezes his arm. Baal says nothing.

As they file out, O’Neill smirks at him. “Never thought I'd see a System Lord whipped.”

“Jack!” Jackson's tone is both shocked and a warning. Baal feels Samantha's hand grip his and lets her pull him away.

She is shaking by the time they reach her lab and she paces, white-faced and muttering apology after apology. He grabs her, pulls her to him.

“It was not your fault,” he says, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Stop apologising for him.”

She shakes her head, so he captures it between his hands and kisses her. Then does it again, just because he can. On the third, she surrenders and slides her arms about his shoulders.

He touches her just so and she responds, her passion mounting with each hungry kiss, each sweeping caress. Breaking from her, he shoves paperwork across her desk. She laughs at him, and in that moment of distraction he hits a certain button on her computer.

A quick glance up and he smiles at the red light glowing beneath the camera. Then turns his attention back to Samantha.

Baal isn't much of an exhibitionist and prefers to keep private things... well, private: he doesn't like sharing. But there is an exception to every rule, and this time he is going to show O'Neill exactly what he is missing.

Samantha escapes his clutches as he tugs her shirt off. She laughs at him and skips to the door, locking it with a catty grin before prowling back. He snorts, grabs her shoulders and swings her round, hitches her onto the desk.

It's hard to watch her arch beneath him, pale flesh gleaming in the yellow light of the lab, and not think of this being captured by camera. He wonders if O'Neill will watch, if he'll pleasure himself whilst doing so, or just turn the monitor off. Baal truly hopes it'll be the former, that the man will see once and for all to whom this woman belongs.

Hear whose name she cries out in pleasure.

She drops her trousers and kicks them off so that when he pushes in hard and fast, she is free to wrap her legs around his waist.

Placing a hand on the small of her back, he thrusts firmly, listening to the hitch of her breathing as she catches cries at the back of her throat. Wanting to hear her, he runs a finger down her chest bone and then cups a breasts. Squeezes just so.

“Hmm.” She purrs and pulls him in with her ankles. “Baal.”

Does anyone else on this insipid little place make her pant their name? Hardly. She is his, and he is no longer careful who knows it. He would broadcast the fact to the entire universe, if it were his choice.

She's tense, and that makes it easy to send her over the edge. The lab rebounds her cry. Nice acoustics, he thinks and grins again.

“You,” Samantha says and bats his arm lightly, “are an evil person.”

He gives her his best innocent look which, given the roll of her eyes, doesn't really work. “Me? What did I do?”

“You broke a rule.” She sits up and loops her arms around his neck. “And I know you did.”

Baal risks a glance up at the camera, then grins at her and shrugs. “He had it coming. And I had you. It's all very fair.”

She laughs and pulls his head down for a long, lingering kiss. He arches an eyebrow curiously.

“I thought you'd be angrier,” he admits.

“If it bothered me that much, you would never have done it.”

Shock courses through him, but then he laughs at how easily she's outmanoeuvred him. Sex is apparently not the only way he's rubbing off on her.

“Oh, how conniving and underhand, Samantha,” he says, pleased. “I'll make a Queen of you yet.”


End file.
